


Angel Actually

by ineffablebadger



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Food, Inspired by Love Actually, Love Actually References, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27648296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablebadger/pseuds/ineffablebadger
Summary: “Crowley raised his eyebrow, paused for a moment, and reached for his coffee. His fingers brushed against Aziraphale’s hand delicately as he grabbed the cup, causing the blond’s heart to pound in his chest. Crowley glanced up at Aziraphale before lifting the drink to his mouth and taking a sip.”It’s the day of the Home, Hearth and Garden Christmas Party. Aziraphale sits next to his handsome colleague Crowley at dinner.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 137
Collections: Aziraphale's Library Festive Fic Recs, IneffableBadger's Seasonal Fics, Make the Yuletide Gay 2020





	Angel Actually

**Author's Note:**

> This is a human!AU fluffy, festive one-shot based on Love Actually. I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> I originally wrote it for Week 3 of the 'Make the Yuletide Gay' event and includes both 'Mistletoe' and 'A Lift Home'. I then got impatient and posted it, and then didn't get the time to write anything else, so...here it is!
> 
> It was beta’d by Halmanuut who saved you from my formatting sins. [https://www.instagram.com/halmanuut/] All mistakes are mine.

Aziraphale self-consciously regarded his festive bowtie in the bathroom mirror as he combed his hair. It was ridiculous, but it was a tradition at the magazine he worked at to wear something festive on the day of the office party. Aziraphale was old fashioned and somewhat particular when it came to his clothing, so he had expertly avoided the ugly jumper trend that began plaguing the festive season in recent years, instead preferring more subtle nods to the Yuletide. 

He packed up his things, walked down the stairs from his flat in Highgate, and hopped on the Tube to work. It was quieter than usual, it now being late enough in December that many of his fellow office workers of the capital were taking annual leave for Christmas or calling in sick following their own office parties. Aziraphale took out the book he was currently reading and lost himself in the cheesy festive romance for several stops. 

Aziraphale continued reading after he arrived at his destination, positioning himself standing on the right side of the escalator. He navigated his way through the ticket barriers and, as he left the station, he noticed that one of the big coffee chains were advertising saccharine, vaguely festive seasonal drinks. He was overly fond of seasonal menu items, so stopped to pick up a peppermint hot chocolate with extra whipped cream for himself and an eggnog latte for his colleague, Anthony Crowley. 

* * *

Faint Christmas music came from the Editor-in-Chief’s PA’s desk as Aziraphale arrived at the office. 

“Fuck, I just lost Whamaggedon,” Crowley said with a smile, his voice carrying across the office, “You put that on the playlist on purpose, didn’t you?” he accused Anathema, who winked at him before skipping the song. 

Aziraphale paused in the threshold of the office, taking in Crowley, the co-worker he’d fancied since the day he joined _Home, Hearth and Garden_ as a Junior Editor. Crowley had striking brown eyes that verged on amber and well-defined cheekbones. He was wearing a form-fitting black roll-neck jumper that clung to his chest and highlighted his toned body. His sole concession to Christmas was a black Santa hat with lettering that read ‘Bah Humbug’, tufts of his bright red hair poking out of the brim. Aziraphale was in _trouble_ and his productivity for the day was about to take a nosedive. Aziraphale walked further into the office, heading toward his computer, and stopped at Crowley’s desk. 

“Here, for that Pumpkin Spice Latte you bought me back in October.” 

“Thanks, angel,” Crowley grinned up at him.

“Any time. I’m a sucker for seasonal drinks.”

Crowley raised his eyebrow, paused for a moment, and reached for his coffee. His fingers brushed against Aziraphale’s hand delicately as he grabbed the cup, causing the blond’s heart to pound in his chest. Crowley glanced up at Aziraphale before lifting the drink to his mouth and taking a sip. 

“It’s like Christmas in my mouth,” he declared. 

“It’s probably the nutmeg,” Aziraphale offered.

“It’s probably the capitalism.” Crowley responded with a grin.

“Speaking of, I should log in.” Aziraphale sighed. 

“There’s no harm in a little chit-chat and _team bonding_ , especially not on the day of the Christmas party,” Crowley gestured at Aziraphale’s bow tie, “I assume that means you’re coming along?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” He leaned forward conspiratorially, “As a member of the organising committee I made sure that a good portion of the drinks budget went on above average wine, and I rather enjoy seeing colleagues making fools of themselves.”

“Ever made a fool of yourself at a Christmas party, Aziraphale?” Crowley’s eyes sparkled mischievously. 

“Certainly not!” Aziraphale said, looking affronted. 

“There’s always tonight…” Crowley said suggestively. 

“I suppose there is. Photocopying embarrassing body parts is traditional, right?” 

“You could always drunkenly snog a colleague,” Crowley offered.

Aziraphale paused for a moment, taken aback, “Perhaps I could do both at the same time? Really...uh...go for gold!” 

“I look forward to seeing it.” Crowley said with a smirk, followed by a pause. “You’re usually such a stickler for the rules,” he added. 

“That I am,” Aziraphale glanced down at his watch, “and right now I’m also three minutes late for my pitch meeting.”

“Go! Go! Go!” Crowley cheered encouragingly as Aziraphale did a light jog across the office to get to his meeting.

* * *

The atmosphere in the office for the rest of the day was jovial, not dissimilar to the last day of school before the summer holidays, as the staff answered a handful of emails and rounded off already half-finished articles in an attempt to appear productive to management while counting down the time until the party. The sounds of Mariah Carey and Michael Bublé filled the air. The Pogues (and Kirsty MacColl) threatened to interrupt until Crowley yelled at the smart speaker and told it to skip _The Fairytale of New York_ on the basis that slurs might ruin the festive atmosphere. 

Aziraphale made some edits to his draft article on ‘the most overlooked books of the year’ as he nibbled on a mince pie. After a moment, he opened Slack.

> << **Aziraphale** : Did you know that Kirsty MacColl died in a jet ski accident?>>
> 
> << **Crowley** : Jesus, that’s dark.>>
> 
> << **Aziraphale** : It’s just a bit of trivia.>>
> 
> << **Crowley** : I’ll remember that, should it come up in Bee’s Christmas quiz.>>
> 
> << **Aziraphale** : You’re welcome, Crowley.>>

Aziraphale smiled and glanced over at Crowley, vaguely wondering whether he should follow up with a GIF. However, he was uncertain about the office politics of GIFs and his personal jury was still out vis-a-vis the utility of them in communication, so he decided it would be safer to not send one. The sound of a notification snatched his attention away from Crowley and a message from Anathema popped up in the corner of his screen.

> << **Anathema** : You are so obvious.>>
> 
> << **Aziraphale** : I most certainly am not.>>
> 
> << **Anathema** : Are too.>>
> 
> << **Anathema** : How long have you worked at this magazine?>>
> 
> << **Aziraphale** : About two years, three months, two hours and thirty six minutes.>>
> 
> << **Anathema** : You nerd. How long have you been in love with Crowley?>>
> 
> << **Aziraphale** : About two years, three months, two hours and six minutes...>>

Anathema sent a GIF of a black man in a police uniform punching the air, with the word ‘Vindication’ underneath. Aziraphale did not recognise the character, but he understood the message. 

* * *

As the time to leave for their festive meal approached, Aziraphale stood up and reached for the stack of Christmas cards in his bag. Each year, he handed Christmas cards to everyone in the office which included a sticker on the back of the envelope reminding them what they’d ordered for Christmas lunch. If he didn’t, experience told him that inevitably the poor waiter would stand there calling out “winter squash ravioli” while everyone ignored them and the red wine sauce congealed to a reduction. 

Aziraphale returned to his desk after making his way around the office and, a few minutes before the scheduled departure time, set up his Out of Office message. He gathered up his things from his desk and began encouraging the others to do the same. It would probably have been easier to herd cats, but a gentle reminder about the open bar the magazine had generously paid for did the trick and his colleagues were soon on the move and packing their own bags. 

Aziraphale wrapped his tartan scarf around his neck and followed his colleagues out onto the street. He was able to relax for a little while on the short walk to the venue as they’d hired out the function room of their usual pub and nobody needed directing. He breathed the cold December air, and imagined the feeling of Crowley’s hand on his when they'd met over the coffee cup. Once they arrived at the pub, Anathema, who had handled the seating plan, helped direct everyone to their seats. Aziraphale noticed with amusement that he’d been put next to Crowley. 

“I thought I was sitting with you.” He whispered nervously to Anathema as they hung up their coats together.

“We can’t put up with another year of you two pining after each other and not doing anything about it,” she whispered back mischievously, “It’s Christmas, Zira, now’s your chance.” 

Aziraphale straightened his bowtie and summoned his resolve as he made his way to the table where Crowley was already seated, cradling a glass of wine.

“Hullo ‘Ziraphale. Get you a drink?”

“A glass of whatever you’re drinking, please and thank you.” 

The excited buzz of conversation filled the room as almost the entire staff of _Home, Hearth and Garden_ began to shake off their work personas and relax. Crowley returned from the bar with a glass of wine for Aziraphale and a water for himself. 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the water, “Is that what I think it is, Crowley?”

“Afraid so, blasted engineering works on the line to Dorking, so I’m on driving duty this evening.”

“But the wine..."

“It was a spritzer, angel,” Crowley said jovially, “No need to get your knickers in a twist.”

Aziraphale chuckled and noticed his colleagues around the table were beginning to move, so he picked up his Christmas cracker and crossed his arm to offer the other side to Crowley. The rest of the table did the same and pulled on the crackers in unison. There was a loud pop as the crackers exploded, followed by the sound of a few cheap bits of plastic falling to the table. Aziraphale’s side of the cracker was bigger than Crowley's. 

“Guess this one’s yours,” Crowley said with a smile, “what did you get?”

Aziraphale picked out the obligatory flimsy paper crown and small piece of paper, which was certain to include a suitably terrible joke, and saw there was a small packet with a red plastic fish inside. The letters on the outside of the packet read ‘Fortune Teller Miracle Fish’. 

"The _Fortune_ _Telling Fish._ ” Aziraphale ventured as he sat the yellow paper crown on his blond curls, “Do you want the joke or the miracle fish first, Crowley?”

“Joke first, then fish, but you have to put the fish on your hand first,” Crowley replied happily.

Aziraphale nodded, cleared his throat, and read the small sheet of paper he’d released from the cracker.

“What did Adam say on the day before Christmas?” He began.

“I don’t know, what did he say?” Crowley responded, feigning ignorance. 

“It’s Christmas, Eve,” Aziraphale said triumphantly. 

They chuckled together at the delightfully terrible joke. Sporadic laughter broke out across the room as other pairs seated at the table did the same with their own cracker jokes. Aziraphale slipped the small plastic ‘fortune telling’ fish out of the packet and put it in the palm of his hand. The head and the tail of the fish thrashed around a few times on contact with his skin, until it curled up entirely and stopped moving. 

Crowley squinted at the guide that came with the fish. “I can’t tell if that means you are in love or passionate. Perhaps it’s trying to tell you that you’re... passionate about the person you're in love with?” he suggested. 

Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed and his pulse quickened. “You know, it can't actually read your mood. It just reacts to the temperature of your hand,” he said quickly as the fish flipped over in his palm. He hurriedly closed his hand as the plastic moved. 

“Sure, now let me have a go.” Crowley replied, holding out his hand.

Aziraphale unfurled his hand and picked up the fish, delicately placing it in Crowley’s palm. For a moment the fish lay motionless and then its head and tail thrashed emphatically. 

“Aha! You are both tired and in love.” Aziraphale exclaimed.

“That sounds...about right.” Crowley admitted.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the waiter delivering starters for the table. Aziraphale had ordered gravlax with dill sauce while his neighbour had opted for the chicken consomme. Aziraphale was a bit of an amateur gourmand, and he savoured the fatty and flavoursome salmon as he ate. He made appreciative noises and smacked his lips when he finished. Meanwhile, Crowley topped his consomme with several twists of pepper and finished it in silence. 

"Should we have a table game?" called out Newt, the new Junior Editor who had been recruited to work on tech stories. A resounding groan came from the table, and Newt frowned as everyone returned to their plates and roundly ignored him. 

"A game could have been fun, actually." Aziraphale said quietly to Crowley. 

"Perhaps once we've had a few more drinks in us." Crowley responded.

Aziraphale chuckled "Did you enjoy your broth, dear?" 

"S'fine. Wish I'd gone for the salmon, you seemed to enjoy it." 

"Yes, it was quite scrumptious." Aziraphale responded happily. 

"Scrumptious," Crowley muttered to himself, "I need a wizz," he declared, "Get you a drink on the way back?"

"Please, if you’re happy to get me another drink," Aziraphale replied nervously. 

"It's an open bar, angel," Crowley said with a reassuring smile. As Crowley stood up and made his way across the pub toward the toilets, Anathema gave Aziraphale a dramatic wink from across the table. He blushed and looked down, suddenly very interested in his empty plate.

By the time Crowley had returned with more drinks, the plates had been cleared and the main course served. Almost everyone at the table, Aziraphale and Crowley included, had opted for the roast turkey. Mounds of sauteed and roasted vegetables and gravy boats filled to the brim took over the centre of the table. Aziraphale and Crowley both reached for the nearby gravy boat at the same time and their hands met on the ceramic jug. Aziraphale withdrew his hand quickly, chuckling nervously. 

"That keeps happening today,” He said quickly, “sorry, Crowley." 

"S'fine, angel." 

"Why do you call me that, anyway?" Aziraphale enquired as Crowley covered his plate in gravy. 

"It's what you are," Crowley said simply, "You're so _nice -_ like a Christmas angel."

"That's ridiculous." Aziraphale said with a smile.

"You're ridiculous," Crowley retorted, "look at your bowtie."

"Excuse me, this bowtie is entirely appropriate," Aziraphale replied with mock indignation as he cut up his turkey. 

"It's 2020. Who wears bowties anymore?"

"Those with taste," Aziraphale said. Crowley raised an eyebrow in response.

"Doctor Who fans and hipsters." Aziraphale continued with a sigh. 

"Which are you?"

"Neither, I just like old fashioned things," Aziraphale said, then paused. 

"Well, I do quite like Doctor Who, I particularly liked the Tenth Doctor. He-" Aziraphale added. He stopped himself babbling and busied himself with his pigs in blankets.

"You _did_ use the word scrumptious earlier." Crowley said, pointing his Brussel Sprout topped fork at Aziraphale emphatically. 

"That's because the food _was_ scrumptious." Aziraphale said defensively.

" _Truly_ scrumptious?" Crowley teased. 

Aziraphale grinned as he rolled his eyes at Crowley. "Yes, and what of it?"

"Nothing, angel, nothing," Crowley replied as he gazed at Aziraphale, "It's actually quite charming." There was a silent pause for a moment as Aziraphale considered what Crowley just said.

"Angel...uh...you've got a little bit of...potato. Right there." Crowley said, gesturing at the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth.

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide as he dabbed at himself with a napkin. "Oh! Thanks, Crowley."

* * *

Everyone had finished their meals, including desert. Aziraphale had gone for the chocolate fondant whilst Crowley followed the majority of colleagues in ordering Christmas pudding with brandy butter. In short order, the plates were cleared and the tables moved to make more space for dancing. _Step Into Christmas_ by Elton John began blaring from the speakers as a few of the more brave colleagues, including Anathema, flocked to the make-shift dance floor. Aziraphale smiled at the sight of Bee enthusiastically dancing, they were usually reserved and somewhat cold at work but the festivities seemed to have got rid of some of their inhibitions. There was even the hint of a smile threatening to break on to their usually mean face.

The playlist continued through various well-known and suitably cheesy Christmas songs and Anathema swayed over to Newt and encouraged him out of his seat. As they moved toward the dance floor together, Anathema gave Aziraphale a thumbs up and gestured toward Newt with a big grin on her face. Aziraphale thought to himself that Anathema definitely had a type.

“Freshen your water, Crowley?” Aziraphale offered as he grinned back at Anathema.

“I’d rather you stay here and dance with me.” Crowley responded nonchalantly. 

Aziraphale started. He put down his wine, and extended his hand to help Crowley up from his seat in a tacit response to his invitation. They headed to the dance floor and danced with reckless abandon to the soundtrack of Shakin’ Stevens and Paul McCartney. By the end of the two songs they were breathless and smiling, revelling in the atmosphere and, in Aziraphale’s case, the free alcohol coursing through his veins. The music up until this point had been predictable and, more often than not, terrible but neither of them seemed to care. Even Newt was still dancing, moving his uncoordinated limbs awkwardly and out of time with the music.

As the next song started, Aziraphale spotted Anathema making her way across the room toward the speaker out of the corner of his eye. He continued dancing with Crowley, although “with” was a bit of a stretch: so far they had only been dancing in the vicinity of each other. Suddenly, the tone of the music changed. Instead of cheesy festive pop, a slow romantic song that Aziraphale didn’t recognise echoed around the room. Aziraphale silently cursed his friend for messing around with the agreed playlist. Several colleagues left the dance floor, taking this opportunity to use the bathroom or refill their drinks, as Anathema pulled a smug-looking Newt into a slow dance. 

Crowley extended his hand toward Aziraphale. “Tempt you to a dance?”

Aziraphale nodded slowly and took Crowley’s hand in his. Feeling brave, Aziraphale inched forward until their chests were pressed against each other and wrapped his arm around Crowley’s waist. Crowley rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder and sighed contentedly. He was toned and firm, but warm to the touch and smelled faintly of lilies. Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s heartbeat quicken as they danced. They stayed like that, gently swaying to the rhythm of the music, until the song ended. As they reluctantly pulled apart from one another, Aziraphale noticed the dance floor was full of slightly bemused pairs breaking apart and crashing back to reality as the magic of the song dissipated. 

“S’nice.” Crowley said, grinning, looking into Aziraphale’s eyes.

“It was.” 

“You know what this song’s called, Aziraphale?”

“I think so,” Aziraphale responded quietly, “I believe that is Cliff Richard singing.”

“It’s _Mistletoe_ _and Wine_.” Crowley said emphatically. Aziraphale cocked his head in confusion. 

“Mistletoe, angel.”

“Huh?”

“Oh for Heaven’s sake,” Crowley grinned and pulled Aziraphale towards him, “I’d quite like to kiss you, and since there’s no _actual_ mistletoe I had to make do.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes opened wide as he finally realised what was happening and he captured Crowley's lips in a kiss. Crowley threaded his fingers through Aziraphale’s curls and knocked the paper crown on to the floor as he pulled him closer. Warmth flowed through Aziraphale as he took in the feeling of Crowley’s lips on his; soft, warm and tender. He tilted his head and slightly opened his mouth, allowing Crowley to deepen the kiss. When they eventually broke apart, somewhere behind them Anathema cheered. Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed red, only partially because of the wine, and he gestured toward the bar with a nod of his head. Crowley followed him off the dance floor. 

“Everything ok?” Crowley asked, concerned. He wondered if he’d overstepped the mark somehow. 

“Never better,” Aziraphale said reassuringly with a squeeze of Crowley’s hand, “I’ve been thinking about doing that for the longest time. I just wanted to get away from prying eyes, you know?”

“Worried that you’ll make a fool of yourself, angel?” Crowley teased. 

“I don’t think this pub has a photocopier, so I should be safe.” Aziraphale responded with a grin.

* * *

Aziraphale and Crowley stayed at the pub until closing time, and spent most of the time cuddled up in a booth talking to each other in hushed voices. They were tempted to the dance floor by a few of their favourite Christmas number ones, on one occasion, to do the Macarena by an over excited and slightly intoxicated Anathema. Aziraphale had just got the hang of the dance by the end of the song with able instruction from both the lyrics and Crowley. 

Bee, Newt, Anathema, Aziraphale, and Crowley were the last colleagues in the pub as the bell rang out for last orders. Anathema insisted on getting in a round of Baileys for everyone, which Crowley and Bee left unattended. The others drank down the Irish cream which mixed uncomfortably with the rich, heavy food in their stomachs. 

“We should hit the clubs!” Anathema suggested to nobody in particular.

“Afraid not, I’ve left my partner at home alone for long enough already.” Bee responded with a yawn.

“Yeah, sorry mate, clubs just aren’t that fun when you can’t drink.” Crowley added.

Aziraphale nodded and unlocked his phone. “Bugger it,” He waved the screen quickly in front of the group, “The Northern line is down again.”

“I can give you a lift, Aziraphale, anywhere you want to go.” Crowley responded quickly.

“Ey ey,” Anathema responded with a suggestive grin, nudging Aziraphale a bit too forcefully in the ribs.

“Well. That sounds far nicer than the Night Bus.” Aziraphale said, gently pushing Anathema away.

They finished off the remainder of their drinks and grabbed their coats. The group called out thank-yous to the bartender in various states of coherence as they left the pub and walked out onto the street.

“Flip me, it’s cold,” said Crowley, “Car’s this way, angel.” he said, placing his hand on the small of Aziraphale’s back and directing him away from the pub.

“‘Night both,” Aziraphale called to Bee and Anathema as they walked toward the Tube station.

“G’night,” Crowley echoed.

“See ya Monday.” Bee responded, chasing after Anathema who had begun skipping off down the street and by this point was quite far in ahead of them. 

* * *

Crowley opened the door of his BMW for Aziraphale and the blond climbed into the passenger seat. Although the car had aux input, Crowley preferred CDs. He pressed play after turning the key in the ignition and Freddie Mercury’s voice blared out of the speakers. Even Aziraphale thought CDs were a little bit old fashioned for 2020, but he understood that he was in no position to judge. He was surprised, too, that Crowley was a fan of classic rock.

“Where to, ‘Zira?”

“Highgate, please.”

“Right you are.” Crowley turned down the volume of the music and pulled away from the curb. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until Crowley opened his mouth to speak. “If you’d like, angel, maybe we can get dinner. Like a proper date.”

“ _Like_ a proper date?” Aziraphale enquired. 

“Ok, _a_ proper date.” Crowley responded, momentarily shifting his focus from the road to look at Aziraphale.

“I’d like that.” Aziraphale responded happily.

“So would I.”

"I’ll choose the restaurant, of course.” 

“I thought as much.”

Crowley drove quickly through the quiet streets of late-night London. On the pavements, the pedestrians were a mixture of drunk festive revellers and ordinary citizens making their way to night shifts. As Crowley took a corner a bit too tight, Aziraphale grabbed hold of his seat. Upon noticing that, Crowley slowed down a little as they made their way through Camden and up towards Highgate.

“Where abouts in Highgate do you live, angel?” Crowley asked.

“The rough bit.” Aziraphale replied.

“There’s a rough bit of Highgate?” Crowley asked incredulously. 

“Well, I suppose it’s not really rough per-se more…” 

“Why don’t you just give me your address and I’ll put it in Google Maps.” Crowley said with a chuckle.

They eventually found the flat with a little help from Google and a couple of wrong turns. Crowley parked up on the street and climbed out onto the street where he was joined by Aziraphale a few moments later. 

“Would you like to come in for a cocoa Crowley? Nothing, uh, implied of course.” Aziraphale said awkwardly. 

"One cocoa minus implications would be lovely, angel.”

They headed together inside Aziraphale’s building and up the stairs to his large, spacious and surprisingly modern flat. Several of the walls were covered by built-in bookshelves that seemed to struggle to hold the weight of the various leather bound books that sat on them, the clutter thoroughly ruining the modern aesthetic. The flat had bright spot-lighting, but Aziraphale adjusted the dimmer switch and put a Nora Jones record on the sound system to set the atmosphere.

Crowley took a seat and stretched out on the cracked brown leather sofa while Aziraphale went to the kitchen to make cocoa. He returned a few moments later with steaming mugs of hot chocolate decorated with whipped cream and marshmallows and took a seat next to Crowley. They sat together on the sofa, nursing the mugs, and Aziraphale rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. Whether it was the festive glow of the lights on his Christmas tree, the wine, or the memory of their kiss, Aziraphale didn’t know. What Aziraphale _did_ know is that he might be about to mess things up quite terribly. 

He turned to look at Crowley, and took a deep breath “Darling, I - Just because it’s Christmas, I wanted to say that…” Aziraphale paused for a moment, “I love you.”

“I hope that you don’t only love me just because it’s Christmas, Aziraphale. I’m afraid I’m quite smitten by you.” Crowley responded. Aziraphale let out a startled laugh.

“Even when it’s Halloween or, in fact, no major celebration whatsoever.” he said. Crowley chuckled and put down his mug and looked into Aziraphale’s eyes. 

“I love you too,” he said seriously, reaching across to cradle Aziraphale’s face in his hands. Aziraphale beamed and kissed Crowley softly in response. 

They cosied up together by the light of the Christmas tree, their quickly cocoa forgotten, as Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in his. Aziraphale silently thanked Anathema for being as nosy and meddlesome as she was. They stayed there together for quite some time, awash in the glow of Christmas and the promise of the many nights like these yet to come. 


End file.
